


We Live Here Too

by knitwit1912



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Battle of New York (Marvel), Blood and Injury, Community: avengerkink, Gen, Kink Meme, Ordinary People, Original Character-centric, POV Original Character, Past Violence, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-22
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-30 03:12:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1013405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knitwit1912/pseuds/knitwit1912
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various vignettes from the POV of ordinary people in the MCU post-Avengers, and the ways their lives intersect with the Avengers, either knowingly or unknowingly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Perfect 10

**Author's Note:**

> Written in response to [a prompt on the Avengers Kink Meme](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/9218.html?thread=20687106#t20687106): _What kind of daily life would an ordinary folks (like us) have in MCU with the Avengers popping up all the time (whether you know it's them or not) every now and then?_

“I think this one’s a solid seven.”

“Are you kidding me? This is a nine, easy.”

“I call cheating from the Russian judge.”

“Please, the difficulty easily makes up for artistic interpretation.”

“Cut it out you guys, I’m dropping the highest and lowest scores anyway.”

“Seriously? Oh my God, you’re seriously recording these and creating an overall score aren’t you.”

“Have you noticed you’re in a room full of accountants? Someone was going to.”

“Okay, put me down for a 6.5, that was--oooh. Wait, make that a 5.5 for that dismount. Ouch.”

“Hey, you know what we should do...?”

  
He didn’t notice the signs in the windows for the first few days, as he was too busy monitoring the new suit’s performance, working out the bugs. It wasn’t until he reviewed the footage from the suit’s HUD recording that he spotted it and freeze-framed the image.

There were papers taped to the windows of the newly-reconstructed office buildings near Stark Tower; not odd in itself, but these had numbers written on them, facing outward, and they added up to a total number displayed at the end. Huh.

That afternoon after doing more suit testing, he glanced over at the windows. This time there were different numbers, again adding up to a total.

Tony grinned. "JARVIS, what’s my increased power consumption rate for acrobatics?”

“Acrobatics use approximately twenty percent more power per minute than flying in a straight line, sir.”

“Good. Let’s put on a show.”

“Sir?”

“I want to see if I can get a perfect ten.”


	2. 613.69 - Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "blood and injury" tag at the top is there for a brief, not overly graphic mention in this chapter, just to give you a heads-up.

There are certain pros to working the Friday afternoon shift at the Grand Central Branch of the New York Public Library.

For one, the 6pm closing time and close proximity to Grand Central mean I have that much shorter a commute home. For another, most of the commuters that make up the bulk of our patrons just want to get home as soon as possible on a Friday evening, so it tends to be rather quiet.

Mr. Harlequin is definitely another.

Okay, so his name isn’t Harlequin, and I know his real name now, thanks to my friend Stacey who works on the circulation desk. I mentioned him during one of those Friday evenings out and the next time she checked him out--and checked out his books, ha--she called up to my phone on the reference desk to tell me his name. But the first time I saw him, six weeks ago, my immediate thought was that he looked like a guy from a Harlequin romance novel cover, and the name kind of stuck. Especially when I needed a code name for him to mention him on my (friends-locked, never checked from work, I’d like to keep my job, thank you very much) blog. And I needed to mention him, because not only is he seriously attractive, he’s also unfailingly polite and pretty friendly, which is a rarity some days, especially since all that craziness in May.

I’m sure he knows how to use the computers and the catalogue by now, but he still comes up to the desk, all blonde hair, blue eyes and radiating wholesome. Not that I’m complaining. Anyway he once mentioned that he’s used the catalogue from home when he hears about a book that seems interesting but that he prefers to come to the desk because “the computer tells me what books you have on a subject, but you guys can tell me what ones are good.”

If that doesn’t melt a librarian’s panties (or boxers; part-timer Dan has quite the crush on Mr. Harlequin too and we’ve joked many times about pudding wrestling to see which one of us gets him) I don’t know what does.

Anyway, tonight’s like any other night. He comes in around five, walks up to the desk and says hello; a bright ray of sunshine in a day with a higher asshole quotient than usual. Considering what everyone in New York is still dealing with, I know I should probably be a little more charitable, but some days it’s harder than others, particularly when we weren’t unscathed either.

“What are you looking for this week?” I ask with a smile.

“Would you have a copy of _Lost Moon_ by Jim Lovell? I was watching _Apollo 13_ the other night and thought I’d read the book it was based on.”

Simpler search than usual, so it only takes a second to find the record. “It’s also been issued under the title _Apollo 13_ , but it doesn’t look like we have a copy here for either title. There’s one in at a couple other branches, though, so I could have one here in a couple days.”

“That would be great,” he says, passing over his card before I even have to ask.

“If you’re interested in that kind of thing you might want to check out the TV series _From the Earth To the Moon_ , or the movie _October Sky_ ,” I say, scanning his card and placing the hold. “The first one’s about the creation and early years of the space program, the second one is based on the memoir of a man that grew up in West Virginia coal country and wanted to work for NASA and so started building rockets with his friends, even though the odds of him getting there were pretty low.”

“Those sound interesting; do you have a piece of paper and a pen?”

“Here, let me,” I say, writing out the titles on a scrap of paper and handing them to him. He folds it around his library card and puts it in his pocket.

“Thanks for your help,” he says, giving me one of his thousand-watt smiles. On some patrons, it would look creepy. Him? So not creepy. It’s times like this that I wish giving him my phone number or email address wouldn’t be highly unprofessional.

“That’s what we’re here for,” I say, watching as he turns and heads toward the stacks. (Okay, yes, there’s a moment where I’m not watching him so much as I’m watching his ass in those jeans.)

After six, Stacey’s stuck with a last-minute patron (“But I only need to pick up a hold! ...What do you mean I have fines? Why the hell should I have to pay fines; I already pay for this place in my taxes,” and so on, for five minutes) so I hang around the first floor lobby until she’s finished and we can head to our lockers together.

“Drink?” I ask.

“Oh God, please. I saw Mr. Harlequin earlier, so you must have had a better afternoon than I did.”

“He was the one bright spot, let me tell you.”

We grab our stuff and make our way out with the other staff, most of us heading down E 46th toward Lexington and the subway. Stacey and I wave goodbye to the others at Lexington and head for a bar we like.

Once we’re seated and armed with a couple drinks (martini for her, mojito for me) she folds her arms on the table top. “So, you sleeping any better?”

I sigh and nod. “Yeah, the sleeping pills my doctor gave me last week are a lot better than the ones I was on before. You?”

“Half an hour after taking half a tablet, I’m out like a light.”

“Oh my God, we sound like my grandmother and her friends, talking about their prescriptions.”

“Well, we earned ours,” Stace says with a grim smile.

“Yeah, we did.” I don’t tell her that there are nights I don’t take one of the sleeping pills, and invariably I’m back in the library, huddled under my desk and pressing down on the gushing wound in Tamara’s chest from a piece of shrapnel that had come in from the shattered window. I didn’t really get a good look at the creatures that caused the whole mess, but Stacey had and I’m sure she has her own nightmares that she doesn’t mention.

Tamara didn’t make it. Her picture is on a wall downstairs along with two other staff members that were killed that day, along with a small plaque recognizing Tony Stark for his help with funding and resource-gathering to get the library repaired and open again.

Stace raises her glass. “To making it through another week.”

I smile and lightly clink her glass with mine. “To making it through another week, and to Mr. Harlequin for making it that much better.”


End file.
